


when i leave this island (i'll book myself into a soul asylum)

by Keepyousatisfied



Series: fate dealt you a tricky hand. [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Amsterdam, Angst and Humor, Avignon (City), Berlin (City), Civil War Fix-It, Depression, Drinking & Talking, Drug Use, Dublin (City), European Road Trip, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Inspired by a Trailer, London, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Non-Chronological, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Child Abuse, Post-Civil War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Protective Bucky Barnes, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepyousatisfied/pseuds/Keepyousatisfied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bangs his head against the church-wall when they’re outside and Tony’s screaming ‘’Hallelujah!’’ at the sky. </p><p>---</p><p>Tony disappears when the Civil War is over. Bucky brings him back. They go on a road-trip. Steve has a lot of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you can't give me the dreams that aren't mine anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another story. About civil war, because the trailer made me extremely happy and extremely sad at the same time.
> 
> So, I kinda got _really_ into writing again and this happened. (oops) Still not a native-English-writer (too bad) but I hope it doesn't show too much. There's a lot of sad in this story, but there's also a lot of happy moments.
> 
> There's going to be a part 2 (and three) and it isn't in chronological order but that's kind of obvious from the start. The first part focuses mainly on the Bucky&Tony-bromance (BECAUSE I REALLY WANT THEM TO BE FRIENDS) The next part is going to be Steve-centric. :)
> 
> Title's inspired by Half The World Away - Oasis (the Christmas-commercial song)
> 
>  **Warning:** drug use, minor character death (aftermath), smoking, etc.

Bucky finds him when it’s over – sitting on a bench in Avignon, France. His face looks ten years older and he smells like dried blood and sweat. He’s staring at the sky and doesn’t acknowledge Bucky’s presence, but that’s okay – Bucky sits down next to him anyway, never breaking the silence.

His hands are blistered and scarred, there are bruises on his wrists and arms and his upper lip looks painfully swollen. Bucky can’t stand the sight, he looks away and follows Tony’s gaze – the stars are nowhere to be seen tonight, but the moon shines a bright yellow. He can hear a cat screaming in the distance.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. He has a _reason_ to be here, he’s on a _mission –_ but he can’t open his mouth, can’t speak, can’t break the silence. He opens his eyes again – greeted by yellow moonlight – and looks at Tony again. He’s greeted by brown eyes.

‘’Are you going to kill me?’’ Tony’s voice sounds hoarse – like he hasn’t spoken in months. It’s cutting and rough and Bucky shakes his head – he’s so used to unpleasant conversations; he doesn’t even hesitate. Tony nods and sighs, he looks away again but Bucky doesn’t.

‘’I’m taking you home’’ Bucky tells him and suddenly Tony is sitting up straight – tense all over. He looks at Bucky again – his eyes cold and it makes Bucky shiver because he may not know him that well, but he knows that look. _Fear_ , his mind supplies, _fear and loathing_. He never liked the man in front of him but suddenly he understands him – he nods but he doesn’t look away.

‘’That’s worse than death,’’ he starts, and Bucky feels cold all over, ‘’I don’t have a home anymore.’’

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Do you think I’m still interested in the _truth,_ Bucky?’’ It’s not a question – it’s a statement. It’s misplaced authority and pretentiousness. It’s a mask – Bucky knows – and he isn’t fooled. He knows Steve expects him to bow his head, but he doesn’t. He stares back and he can see the moment of surprise in Steve’s eyes, but it fades quickly – then it’s all cold stares and fake-authority again.

‘’I don’t know, Steve, but I sure as hell am.’’ Steve shakes his head – wants to stop him but knows he can’t. Bucky can _almost_ hear the conversation he’s having with himself. Steve’s eyes are a bit softer when he looks up again – not like they used to be, but it’s something.

‘’Go then.’’ Steve tells him – a little tired, a bit broken. Bucky smiles, nods and walks away.

 

* * *

 

 

Finding something that doesn’t want to be found can be difficult – Bucky knows that now. He was trained to do this, _manufactured_ even _,_ but nothing could have prepared him for this – there were no clues, no trails, no nothing. It frustrates him, makes him question himself, but he isn’t a _quitter_. He promised himself he’d find him, so he would. He’d bring him home.

He can’t stop feeling like finding him will only make it worse.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s in Dublin when he sees him. He doesn’t look like himself anymore – his cheeks are hollow, making his cheekbones stand out in a sickly way. His hair is messy and he’s grown a beard, a full one. It makes Bucky reconsider his choices; _he shouldn’t have, he had no right, he ruined-..._ He pushes it far, _far_ away and focuses on the task at hand, the mission.

They’re in a pub and it smells like vomit and stale beer. Tony’s leaning on the bar – his legs are shaking; Bucky can see it from where he’s sitting, near the window. He nips his beer and keeps observing him. There’s been a time that Tony’s presence had intimidated him – standing tall above everyone else, even though he wasn’t tall in stature. Now – in a cheap bar in Dublin – Tony doesn’t look larger than life anymore. He looks sick, small and broken.

Bucky sits there for a long time – hours, maybe – just watching him. Their eyes meet briefly when Tony grabs his coat to leave. He pretends he doesn’t recognize him, but Bucky can see the emotions in his eyes – pain, surprise, fear. Bucky nods his head at him, but he doesn’t follow.

 _He needs time,_ he thinks, as he orders another beer.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’You should shower.’’ Bucky tells him when they’re in Vienna. They’re sitting in a small bakery ( _Kaffeehaus, Tony told him)_ and he’s not sure how they got here. Tony just seemed too tired to fight back – went with him without a word – and that pains Bucky more than he’s ever willing to admit.

‘’I know.’’ His voice sounds far away and he’s biting his fingernails. He’s still on edge and Bucky understands but it makes him feel like shit anyway. They’ve been travelling for two weeks now, but they don’t really talk to each other. Tony’s trying, Bucky can see that – he teaches him random facts about the cities they’ve travelled through and he fakes smiles to make him feel better. It makes him feel worse, but he’s thankful that he’s trying so he doesn’t mention it.

They sit in silence for a long time – both too tired to talk, but it’s comfortable in a way Bucky can’t explain.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re sitting on a rooftop in Switzerland – it’s snowing and Bucky thinks it’s Christmas Eve, but he doesn’t mention it. Tony’s lying on his back, looking at the sky, a cigarette between his fore- and middle finger. He’s blowing small circles of smoke and Bucky smiles – he’s slowly getting better. The scars on his hands aren’t red anymore – they look like glowing silver in the moonlight. His bruises are fading, too.

Bucky watches Tony close his eyes – he smells like cherry-liquor and smoke and it’s an odd combination, but Bucky thinks it’s nice. _He’s healing_ , he thinks as he takes the bottle from him and puts it to his mouth. He closes his eyes to enjoy the pleasant burn and the sweet taste.

 ‘’I feel like I’m fifteen again.’’ Tony tells him then, and Bucky blinks because it doesn’t sound broken anymore. He looks at Tony expectantly – wondering what’s going to come next. ‘’I used to run away a lot.’’ Bucky snorts and Tony winks at him.

Bucky wonders if maybe they’re friends now.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s _never_ felt like this before. He’s in a club in Berlin and he can _feel_ the music in his bones. The lights are dancing in front of his eyes and he feels warm inside. Tony’s dancing with a pretty brunette – his eyes are almost popping out of their sockets and his face is sweaty, reflecting the lights in the overcrowded club. He doesn’t look old anymore.

Bucky’s ninety-nine percent certain he’s going to regret this tomorrow but right now he feels liquid-y and warm – so he refuses to care. He _finally_ feels at home in this century – feeling connected to every single soul in this club, imitating the dance-moves Tony taught him this morning (which isn’t really dancing, but whatever, _be modern, Bucky._ )

He’s awoken from his haze when a strong hand grabs his shoulder. It startles him and he almost drops the water bottle he was holding – but he recuperates quickly (he’s _still_ an assassin) and turns around slowly. He’s greeted by two blue eyes and he blinks because he _knows_ those eyes. He blinks again because he _knows_ this person and it clicks. _Steve’s here._

The blue-eyed man looks surprised – jaw hanging open slightly and Bucky almost snorts at the sight, but he bites his lip to hold it in. Steve blinks slowly and Bucky can see the moment it clicks, because he looks _furious_ when he opens his eyes again.

‘’You’re high?!’’ Steve is screaming and Bucky smiles at him – exposing his teeth because it’s _amusing_. He grabs the little plastic bag with white crystals from his pocket and holds it in front of Steve’s face. ‘’ _Yes_ ,’’ he answers in a sing-song voice, ‘’You want some?’’ Steve’s trying to snatch the bag from his hands, but Bucky has the _fastest_ reflexes in the world right now, so he puts it back in his pocket.

‘’Ask nicely, punk.’’ he says matter-of-factly and Steve looks perplexed. It reminds him of when they were young – ‘ _Bucky the Rebel, Steve the Saint.’_ He snorts because it’s funny and Steve opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. Then his expression changes to disappointment and Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter from coming.

It all changes when Steve looks over Bucky’s shoulder and spots Tony, still dancing with the brunette, never taking his eyes off her. Suddenly his eyes are cold again – he looks ten shades paler in the blink of an eye and Bucky sighs because he should’ve seen this coming. He grabs Steve’s arm to get his attention and guides him towards the exit

 

* * *

 

 

They’re in Amsterdam on New Year’s Eve and suddenly, it’s 2017. Bucky tenses when he hears the loud noises, the fireworks, but inhales slowly to stop the panic attack from coming. Tony taught him that last week – told him how he had them, too and how there was absolutely _no_ shame in that. It made Bucky feel human again and he wanted to tell Tony how much he’d appreciated it; he just couldn’t find the words to do so.

They’ve been drinking champagne all day and he’s a little drunk when a blonde girl worms her way into his arms and presses three kisses on his cheeks – one on his left, one on his right and another one on his left. ‘’Gelukkig nieuwjaar!’’ she says into his ear and he smirks at her.

He’s a little disappointed when she leaves so he grabs something that looks like a donut from a plate and looks across the room to find Tony. He finds him with a glass of champagne in his hand, laughing at him from across the room. Bucky rolls his eyes but Tony wiggles his eyebrows at him anyway. To top it off, he gives him a thumbs up.

Bucky flips him off.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony shows him the Louvre on a Sunday. It’s overcrowded and he doesn’t really want to be here – art was _never_ his thing. He almost tells Tony that he should have taken Steve – then he remembers that that’s _out of the question_ and he’s _incredibly_ relieved he still has a brain-to-mouth filter.

They’re standing in front of the Mona Lisa and he’s dying of boredom. The painting freaks him out because she’s watching him. He wants to whine – tell Tony how he’s losing brain cells out of pure _boredom_ – when Tony looks at him and snorts out loud. He hears Tony whisper something that sounds like _philistine_ and suddenly he can’t hold it in anymore. He’s laughing so hard that people start looking at him like he’s just escaped a mental-institution and he _really_ tries to stop but he _can’t._

Tony smiles politely at the other visitors, grabs Bucky’s shoulders and guides him away. The guards look extremely unamused and Bucky wants to say so, but they’re out of the door before he can. ‘’She’s _so ugly_.’’ he laughs on – he can feel that his cheeks are wet with tears now. ‘’Who is?’’ Tony asks him, amusement in his voice and Bucky feels _really pleased_ about that. ‘’Moany Lisa!’’ Bucky exclaims like it’s the funniest thing on earth and Tony snorts.

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting on the bench in the middle of Berlin – Bucky’s leaning back, enjoying the cold air on his skin and Steve is holding his head in his hands, facing the ground. He can still hear the bass outside and it calms Bucky in ways he can’t explain. ‘’You said you’d take him home.’’ Steve’s words sound like an accusation and Bucky makes a gesture with his hands, waving it away. He reaches inside his pockets to find his smokes and offers one to Steve. He looks at it for a moment but takes one anyway – sighing when he lights it with Bucky’s lighter.

It reminds Bucky of _before_ – but he doesn’t mention this and keeps his eyes fixed on the streetlight above their heads. He’s looking for words to describe the situation but he’s never _been_ in this situation before, so he can’t find them. He sighs because he can feel Steve’s burning gaze on the side of his face and he turns his face slowly to look at him.

‘’I am taking him home.’’ That’s all he can think of – he knows it doesn’t cover it but it’s the best he can do. Steve shakes his head and looks at him like he wants to strangle him. Bucky rolls his eyes and blows smoke in his face – a non-verbal way to tell him to stop behaving like a spoiled princess.

‘’Getting high with him in a club in Berlin, _of all places_ , is _not_ taking him home.’’ Steve’s voice sounds high-pitched, like fingernails on a blackboard, and Bucky rolls his eyes again. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and looks Steve in the eye. ‘’I’m fixing _your_ mistakes,’’ Bucky tells him, and Steve looks even more perplexed than before, ‘’ _our_ mistakes.’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ Steve sounds pained and Bucky _almost_ feels sorry for him – but he knows Steve understands. ‘’We ruined him,’’ he tells him anyway, ‘’We took _everything_ he had. I can’t bring him back to a home that isn’t his home anymore, can I?’’ Steve looks away from him then – looking younger than he did before. Insecure and pained.

‘’We had to.’’ His voice sounds small and uneven and Bucky shakes his head and grabs Steve’s hair in a tight grip, forcing him to look him in the eye again. Steve yelps. ‘’We _didn’t._ ’’ He’s using Steve’s pretentious Captain-voice now, but he’s angry – at Steve, at himself, at the mess they’ve made. ‘’We’ve become _everything_ we used to hate,’’ he tells Steve, ‘’ _We’re_ the bullies now, Steve.’’

Steve doesn’t move for several seconds – doesn’t even breathe – and Bucky feels weirdly good about that. Then he closes his eyes and Bucky notices his lashes still look like spider legs on his pale cheeks – too long and dark to be human. Bucky called them ‘girl-lashes’ once when he was four. They got into a fight then – that’s how they became friends. He pushes the memory away for later.

‘’He wanted to _lock you up,_ Buck.’’ His voice sounds weirdly fragile, coming from such a large man and it reminds him of the skinny boy inside – Steve _still_ doesn’t know when to walk away. ‘’He _didn’t,_ Steve. You know that now, too.’’ Bucky shakes his head because Steve’s still _so_ frustratingly stubborn it makes his blood boil. ‘’He wanted to keep the world safe, but he’d do _anything_ for you – you didn’t even give him a _chance_ to explain.’’

Steve sighs brokenly and covers his face with his big hands again – his cigarette is burning his fingers now, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Bucky wonders if he’s crying and he knows he’s not able to handle that right now, so he clears his throat and speaks up again. ‘’You should go. I’m fixing this – you’ll know when he’s ready.’’

Steve looks at him for a few seconds – eyes red and watery – and nods. He doesn’t say goodbye when he leaves, disappearing into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’We’re friends, right?’’ Tony asks him when they’re eating spaghetti in Bologna. Bucky looks up from his plate and curses softly when the pasta he tried to spin around his fork falls off again. He looks at Tony – at his big, brown eyes and nods because they _are_. Tony gives him the brightest smile he’s ever seen in return and Bucky smiles back at him.

He focuses on his food again when Tony sighs and takes his cutlery from him. Bucky wants to protest but suddenly there’s a fork with spaghetti in front of his face and he looks at Tony because he doesn’t understand. ‘’Eat.’’ Tony says matter-of-factly and Bucky wants to tell him to stop treating him like a child – but he stops himself because this is _so much_ easier than trying (and failing) for ten minutes to bring a forkful of food to his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’I was in love with him.’’ Tony’s voice sounds fragile and small. Bucky nods at him and doesn’t look away – Tony needs to talk to _someone_ and he became that _someone_ when he decided he wanted to take this weird road-trip with him. ‘’I was in love with him and he _killed_ my best friend.’’

He feels cold and guilty but nods again. Bucky knows, _he knows_ , how much this hurts Tony. There’s a small part of him that wishes he didn’t but he can’t leave now, can he? He signed up for this. He’s all the man in front of him has got left now. Tony shakes his head furiously – trying to shake the feelings away and Bucky can see he’s failing.

Even in his depressed state, Tony Stark is _still_ a sight to be seen and Bucky feels a weird sense of accomplishment for the fact that Tony chose _him_ to be his friend. ‘’I want to rip his heart out for killing him,’’ Tony starts – looking at the floor, ‘’But I can’t. I can’t hurt him because I love him and I hate him _so_ much for making me feel like this.’’

Tony breaks, then. He’s gasping for air and he’s clutching to Bucky’s shirt like his life depends on it. Like Bucky’s his lifeline. Bucky lets him – strokes his hair, tells him it’s going to be okay and Tony hiccups in his lap – muttering things Bucky doesn’t understand.

 

* * *

 

 

He starts to reconsider his life-choices when they’re attending the Easter Vigil in Warsaw. It took him twelve hours to convince Tony – because he’s a _good_ Catholic - but he doesn’t understand a _word_ the priest is saying and the choir is so off-tune he wants to shoot himself. Tony has fallen asleep _three_ times in the past twenty minutes and Bucky pokes him hard when he catches him drifting off _again_ from the corner of his eye.

 ‘’We’re going,’’ he whispers to Tony. Tony looks at him like he’s crazy for two seconds before he sighs happily. ‘’Thank God.’’ he answers – too loud and the old lady next to him starts saying something in Polish. Tony apologizes in something that sounds like French and holds his hands up in surrender as he stands up to leave. Bucky follows him – ignoring the displeased look the priest sends them.

He bangs his head against the church-wall when they’re outside and Tony’s screaming ‘’Hallelujah!’’ at the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky _knows_ he’s being followed. He has Tony’s shoulder in a tight grip as he tries to guide him through the back-alleys of London. Tony is _not_ amused, he figured that out when he started muttering things like _what the hell do you think you’re doing, Barnes?_ and _if you want to kill me, you should’ve done that before we got to London, asshole_. Bucky ignores him but he knows he didn’t lose the potential killers/muggers/rapists yet, so he pushes Tony into a warehouse that looks abandoned and holds his hand to his mouth to mute him. Tony screams against his palm and Bucky turns him around, facing him. He holds a finger to his mouth, gesturing that he has to be _quiet_ and removes his hand. Tony _is_ quiet but he’s glaring at him. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Bucky’s grabbing a brick from the floor when the door is kicked open and Bucky’s _this_ close to bashing the killer/mugger/rapist’s head in when he notices fiery red hair and steely blue eyes. Natasha looks amused for two seconds – then she looks a little angry – and then she just looks bored. Bucky blinks because this is _a lot_ to take in and he hears Tony clearing his throat behind him.

She holds her hand up to stop him from talking and Tony obeys involuntarily. Natasha’s a little terrifying so Bucky can’t really blame him. ‘’Okay, so-‘’ she starts, ‘’how’s Europe?’’ Bucky’s confused because she doesn’t _do_ small talk – and suddenly she’s laughing. Bucky blinks, once, twice and looks at Tony for an explanation. He just shrugs and rolls his eyes – meaning something like _too crazy for me_ , Bucky suspects.

Natasha clears her throat and Bucky looks at her again. Her expression’s gone soft and Bucky smiles at her – he’s missed her most, he thinks. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek and walks up to Tony, doing the same to him. Tony looks _fifty shades of confused_ and Bucky snorts loudly. Tony glares at him again.

Natasha still has Tony’s face in her hands when she starts talking again. ‘’You have to _come home._ ’’ It’s an order and Bucky senses Tony tensing but he _knows_ that won’t stop Natasha. ‘’Nat-..’’ he starts, but she just shakes her head over her shoulder and focuses on Tony again. ‘’No, I mean it, Stark,’’ she starts and Bucky swears he hears emotion in her voice, ‘’You _have_ to come home. You _can’t_ keep running away forever’’

Tony looks at her for a long time – cold and blank and Bucky shivers because it took him  _months_ to erase that look from his eyes. Natasha isn’t bothered – or she doesn’t show it. ‘’You’re killing him.’’ Her voice is soft now – private, like she doesn’t want Bucky to hear. He wants to step in because this _isn’t_ Tony’s problem anymore and she should go, _now,_ but then he catches Tony’s eyes and stops, frozen in place.

There’s something manic in his eyes and he starts laughing in a way that gives Bucky goose bumps. Natasha takes an unsteady step back and all Bucky can think is _no, no no no no no_ as he makes his way towards Tony and Natasha. The redhead blocks him – arms spread wide and Bucky’s _this_ close to pushing her away when Tony starts crying hysterically.

He’s frozen again and avoiding Natasha’s glare as she sits down next to Tony. ‘’You have to, Tone,’’ she starts – she sounds so much younger now, so unlike herself. Tony shakes his head when Natasha tries to stroke his hair and she sighs. ‘’I know,’’ she murmurs softly and Bucky takes a step back to give them space. ‘’You can’t keep running away from this. You know you’re his endgame, Tony,’’ she starts and she’s touching him now, burying her face in his hair, ‘’and he’s your endgame, too.’’

Tony’s stopped crying and he’s awfully silent. He meets Bucky’s eyes for a second and Bucky tries to give him a reassuring smile in return, but it’s over before it even begins. Tony looks at Natasha then – the silence is uncomfortable and painful. He looks at her for _so_ long Bucky wants to clear his throat – but then he nods. A small, curt nod and Bucky lets out the breath he’s been holding in.

They’re going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ''Gelukkig nieuwjaar'' means ''Happy new year!''
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked this or if you have questions etc. You can also follow me on my new tumblr and message me there. There's a link to my main tumblr on there too. I hope you enjoyed it! :)


	2. my body feels young but my mind is very old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers is twenty-one years old and runs away – from his life, from his memories, from his dreams because he doesn’t deserve the life he’s living anymore. Steve Rogers becomes a man and loses his innocence on a beach in Normandy. (dead bodies, gun powder, yellow flashes, despair.) 
> 
> \---
> 
> A story about love and dark places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So; I think I rewrote every scene 10 times because there were _a lot_ of possible scenarios, but I settled on this version because there's still a part coming and this version felt best to me. It's a lot more chaotic than the last part _and_ more focused on the almost-love-story. Bucky just doesn't have as much backstory as Steve does - which makes writing something in Steve-pov more difficult (to me, at least)
> 
> Anyway, I'm still not sure if I'm 100% satisfied with this but it is what it is. I watched a really sad movie with my best friend last week ([click](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M22BZp6ZKmM)) and was super inspired by it (and the soundtrack, oh my god, it's beautiful) (the actor reminds me of a slightly-ginger skinny-Steve but maybe that's just me) so maybe that's why it got sadder and darker halfway through. 
> 
> I want to thank **all** of you for reading, subscribing, kudo-ing and commenting. It really means the world - you guys really inspired and motivated me! So _thank you thank you thank you._ Also, there's a scene in this part about dancing in American-flags which is of course inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAzqSYQ9X9U) because Tony'd make an awesome Mick Jagger.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it and please comment/like/share/whatever because it makes my day!
> 
>  **WARNING:** DEPRESSION (like, a lot of it), drug-use (a little of that), alcohol-abuse (also a little of that) and a tiny bit of internalized-homophobia.

There is sand between his toes and he can count the freckles on Tony’s nose. He buries his face in the little valley between Tony’s clavicle and neck and _sniffs._ He smells like sea and sunblock and Steve smiles into his shoulder, tangling their legs together on the beach towel. He closes his eyes.

‘’Too hot,’’ Tony groans but he doesn’t move – he’s stroking Steve’s hair and looking at the sky. Steve can hear his heart beating under his ear – _ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump._ He opens his eyes again, looking at Tony from his shoulder and he smiles softly. ‘’I’ve never been to Spain.’’ Steve tells him, drumming his fingers along to the rhythm of Tony’s heartbeat on his stomach. Tony smiles and presses a kiss on his hair. ‘’I’ll take you to Barcelona next.’’

It’s a promise and Steve nods, smiling softly, closing his eyes again.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’It was for the best, wasn’t it?’’ he asks Natasha on a Friday night. They’re sitting in the kitchen – it’s snowing outside and the room smells like vanilla and chocolate because Natasha _bakes to forget._ Steve’s looking at his black coffee like it holds all the answers – scratching his nails on the wooden countertop because he can’t sit still.

‘’I think so, yes,’’ Natasha says as she smiles at him – but it doesn’t reach her eyes and his heart sinks, ‘’It was the best possible outcome after everything.’’ Steve nods at her and fakes a smile, he can see the _pity_ in her eyes and he looks away because he doesn’t want to see it. He’s not the smartest person in his merry band of misfits but he knows he’s _not_ the victim, _never the victim,_ and it’s painful to see her looking at him like that.

He leaves because he can’t stand the sight.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony introduces Steve to the sixties on a Monday and suddenly, he’s standing on a table with Colonel Rhodes – they’re both wearing American flags and leather pants, singing ( _screaming_ ) about ‘satisfaction’. They’re doing the most ridiculous dance-moves Steve’s _ever_ seen (Steve knows modern dancing; this _is not_ modern dancing) and he’s ninety-nine percent sure the table is going to break any minute now.

Clint’s filming it with his phone – singing along while doing so, Bruce is humming along, too. Natasha’s sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs in time with the music. Steve’s _laughing_ – laughing so hard he thinks he’s dislocating his jaw at some point – but he doesn’t care.

When he’s done, Tony gives him the brightest smile Steve’s _ever_ seen and he can feel the ice melting around his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?’’

_Sparks._

‘’You know damn well why, back off!’’

 

* * *

 

Berlin isn’t as colourless as he remembers it to be. The club is bright and flashy and _loud._ He misses the life he had _before –_ a life with air that didn’t smell like burnt gasoline and where the stars were still visible at night. He bites his lip because he’s over this, he can’t relapse in Berlin _of all places._ He can’t relapse _at all_.

A wave of relief washes over him when he spots Bucky – his leather jacket covering his arm and his hair glistering with sweat. _He’s safe,_ Steve thinks, _he’s safe he’s safe thank god he’s safe._ It feels like a mantra again – like it did when he first found him, his arm stuck in a machine in Germany. ( _He can’t get over it, it’s always Germany.)_

He moves over to him – reaching out before he can stop himself and he feels a little guilty when Bucky flinches and turns around quickly. Steve’s greeted by big blue eyes and a tense jaw. He’s a little surprised – he can’t remember Bucky _ever_ looking like this. His jaw is moving like he’s chewing on something invisible and his eyes are so wide open, his eyeballs might fall out. He blinks a few times and suddenly, he gets it - and he’s _really_ not in the mood to deal with _this._

‘’You’re high?!’’ he shrieks before he can stop himself because, deep down, he _knows_ it’s none of his business. Bucky’s laughing and holding drugs in front of his face and he has to bite his lip before he does something extremely stupid, like punch him in the jaw. ( _Bruce told him he had anger issues once. He’s starting to believe it.)_ He grabs for the bag anyway – but Bucky’s still extremely fast in his altered state of consciousness.

Bucky’s laughing at him now, not _with_ him, and he feels like he’s fifteen again. Unaccepted – small, not in on the joke. Steve can’t stand it, so he looks away.

He shouldn’t have, because that’s when he sees _him._

He looks like Bucky with his dilated pupils and unfocussed eyes. His skin is _glowing_ in a way that makes him look unhealthy – so sweaty his shirt is sticking to his body. His hair is messy and too long and he has a _beard._ Steve blinks – once, twice – and spots the brunette next to him. Small – fragile, too skinny – and half his age, for sure. His hand is in her hair and her cheek is on his shoulder and she’s whispering something in his ear and Steve feels _sick_ and _cold_ and _he can’t stay._

Bucky notices – he always does – and guides him away. Steve doesn’t have the energy to say _it’s okay_ anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam’s screaming in his ear and Natasha’s crying and the world is on fire. Steve wants to scream and fight but he can’t _move_ – he’s nailed to the ground. He’s stuck here and he’s going to be stuck here forever – watching the world burn around him, watching it _die_.

Tony’s in front of him now, grabbing his hands – (‘’ _move Steve, you have to move **now** ’’) _– and he tries. He wants to tell him, tell everyone he’s trying but he can’t make it stop and then-…

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s sitting on the roof when Natasha finds him. His legs are dangling off the edge – he’s not looking down because he’s afraid he’ll see someone falling, screaming his name. There’s a self-made cigarette in his left hand and a cheap bottle of whisky standing next to him. Natasha snorts and Steve looks up – gives her a small nod in acknowledgement before he looks away again.

‘’I thought you couldn’t get drunk,’’ she says as she sits down next to him. He shakes his head and opens the bottle to take another swig. ‘’Maybe I haven’t tried hard enough.’’ He’s looking at the city lights now – dancing in front of his eyes, illuminating the sky and scaring the stars away. Natasha just nods.

‘’I think no one would believe you if you told them you’re a chain-smoker.’’ _So that’s how it is now,_ he thinks, _small talk._ He turns his head to look at her and rolls his eyes theatrically. ‘’I _was_ in the army in the forties, you know.’’ She shrugs and takes the bottle from him to take a sip. They’re quiet for a while – it’s not uncomfortable. Not like it _has_ been for past few months. He’s grateful.

‘’I think soldiers still get cartons of cigarettes for free, actually.’’ Her voice sounds tired and he appreciates her for being here. He looks at her again and smiles – his realest smile in _months._ She smiles back and pats his shoulder. Then she stands up to leave again – he thinks she’s going to go back to bed. She should, she looks tired.

She looks back at him when she’s at the door and smirks. He keeps looking at her – wondering what she’s going to say. He knows Natasha always has the best ideas when it’s night-time. ‘’You could always try absinth, you know.’’ She sounds flippant. Steve smiles.

Maybe he will.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up. Tony’s leaning over him with concerned, tired eyes and Steve closes his eyes because he has to relax, has to breathe. Tony brushes the hair from his face and whispers comforting words into his ear – ‘’ _it’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay, I’ll protect you.’’_ Steve’s heart sinks because it shouldn’t be like this. He doesn’t deserve this. He wants to cry and scream and throw up and it’s just too much.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve learns about Tony’s earlier life on a Wednesday morning. The New York Times published an article called ‘ _Tony Stark – the face of hedonism’_ and Steve _tries_ to ignore it but he can’t. The attached picture shows two young men, Tony and a tall guy with broad shoulders and icy eyes. He’s intrigued but that doesn’t really surprise him – Tony Stark _always_ intrigues him.

Steve assumes he’s barely twenty years old in the picture but he’s afraid to ask because Tony never really understands what he means. He has the tendency to get defensive when Steve’s not even _trying_ to be offensive and Steve is currently avoiding talking to him in general. ( _Not because he doesn’t like Tony, he just doesn’t like the situation._ )

He’s almost finished reading the article when he feels a warm breath on his neck and he tenses involuntarily. Suddenly, the room smells like smoke, motor-oil and _really_ expensive cologne. He knows who it is without looking over his shoulder – he _always_ knows. Tony sits down on the opposite side of the table but he doesn’t say a word – he just looks at Steve expectantly. Steve tries not to shiver.

‘’I have a lot of regrets,’’ Tony tells him then, eyes unfocussed – lips in a tight line, ‘’We were _all_ stupid back then. Kids with too much cash to blow and too little love to give.’’ Tony looks _so_ sad now and Steve wants to say something, _anything_ , but he doesn’t know how. It feels like they don’t speak the same language – they’re worlds apart, separated by the dining room table.

Tony looks up at him eventually. His eyes are so intense and _wild_ ; Steve feels the hairs on his arms stand up. ‘’Do you judge me?’’ Tony’s voice sounds fragile and small – so unlike him, it makes Steve feel cold and desperate. He shakes his head in response. It’s more intimate than it’s ever been – the table looks much smaller now, distance slowly dissolving into nothingness. Tony nods softly.

Maybe he’s not too old to learn new languages after all.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’You alright?’’

_No, no, no, I’m never going to be alright._

‘’I’m home.’'

 

* * *

 

 

Virginia Potts visits him on a Sunday afternoon. She used to intimidate him, like a hurricane made of pure _fire_. Now she just looks small – so pale she’s almost see-through, her hair framing her face lifelessly. If regret had a face, she’d look like Pepper does right now.

He can feel she doesn’t want to be here and he understands. He doesn’t want her to be here, either. He can’t say no, though. He knows she must feel lonely – as lonely as he feels, maybe. He hands her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her, never breaking the silence. He knows something’s coming, can almost smell the unsaid words in the air around them but he chooses to ignore it. If he doesn’t acknowledge them, they’re not there – or so he tells himself.

‘’Have you heard from him?’’ Her voice sounds like shattered glass – a mix between sharp business and empty despair. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Pepper takes a shaky breath and Steve opens his eyes to look at her again – blue meeting blue. They’re just two broken souls now.

‘’He blames himself,’’ Pepper starts again and Steve has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet and calm, ‘’and he blames you.’’ Steve nods again. Pepper just shakes her head – her eyes are accusing but she doesn’t say it out loud. He can hear it anyway.

She doesn’t speak up again.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re at a party – _Steve’s birthday party_ – and Tony’s making a toast. ‘’My first love was a toaster,’’ he tells the room and the guests don’t even try to hide their laughter, ‘’she wasn’t a _perfect_ toaster but she was a _beautiful_ toaster – simple on the outside and unbelievably complex on the inside. I took her apart and put her back together. My mother told me that’s what love is.’’ He’s looking at his champagne – eyes a little unfocussed, obviously lost in his own thoughts.

‘’My second love was cocaine,’’ Suddenly, he’s looking at the room. His eyes are focussed again – he looks tense, Steve’s palms feel sweaty, ‘’It was really intense – she taught me things I didn’t know about myself, made me feel things I had never experienced before. She was always there – always just a phone call away. Eventually I realized she was just too much for me.’’

Tony clears his throat and looks around the room. His eyes meet Pepper’s and he smiles at her. ‘’My third love…’’ he starts – making a gesture with his hand to direct the room’s attention to Pepper, ‘’My third love was a fire.’’ Steve smiles and sips his champagne. ‘’Sometimes, fire was like a fireplace – homey, grounding and sweet. Sometimes, fire meant fireworks – explosive but never failing to illuminate the sky. Fire was bonfires too, happy songs and laughter.’’ He pauses. The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop – intimidated by Tony’s openness and wisdom. ‘’Fire was always warm, will _always_ be warm – but fire needs fuel. Fire needs smouldering wood and I’m gasoline. We were flying sparks and burning _heat_. Eventually, I burnt up and fire died out.’’

Steve’s impressed – he’s never heard Tony sound so sincere before. It makes him feel warm. ‘’My current lover is the ocean,’’ Tony’s eyes meet his across the room and Steve _melts._ The room disappears and suddenly, it’s just the two of them – surrounded by comfortable nothingness. ‘’His sound calms me. He’s the waves that polish the sharp edges of my world away – making them soft and easier to walk on. I dive in him and I come out _clean_.’’ Tony pauses again – Steve’s breathlessly waiting for him to continue, ‘’The ocean can be simple and complex – can be warm like fire was and can freeze when it’s cold. Sometimes the ocean is too much for me, too – he takes my shores but he _always_ gives them back.’’

Tony’s smiling at him and Steve’s never felt like this before. Tony makes him forget – forget about his life _before_ , makes it feel insignificant. Steve wants to sink down to his knees and pray because _God_ , he never wants to lose this. He _can’t_ lose this. Tony opens his mouth to speak again and Steve’s just waiting now – experiencing so many emotions he’s not sure he’d be able to talk if he tried.

‘’I didn’t know what to give you for your birthday. The ocean makes _everything else_ seem small and insignificant. So I’m giving you words – I’ll give you promises and poetry. I’ll give you time because I’ve never given that to anyone before. I’ll take you to the ocean – every ocean – and I’ll promise you we’ll swim in _every single one_.’’

Steve is crying because he can’t remember ever feeling this _happy_ before. It embraces him like a warm blanket. He’s crying, _crying so hard_ he’s shaking – almost drowning in his own tears. Tony’s his saviour, his _messiah_ and everything makes sense. He doesn’t need God if he has Tony.

They leave the next morning.

 

* * *

 

 

The world is on fire and he can’t move. The air smells like death – like flesh wounds and gunpowder. His ears are ringing and someone’s laying on top of him. He wants to scream and _fight_ but he can’t – all he can do is pray now. The only fight he’s able to fight _right now_ is between himself and the heaviness of his eyelids. His vision is blurred and he thinks it’s sand – sand in his eyes, in his nose, on his tongue.

It’s coming now. He knows it’s coming and he hopes, _prays_ it’ll be quick. Like falling asleep or like stepping into a warm bath – comfortable. He hopes it _won’t_ hurt. He’s terrified of pain. Steve can’t fight anymore – gives in to the heaviness, suddenly all-consuming and crashing over him like a wave. He thinks of his mother, how she’s someplace _better_ than he’s ever going to go and he smiles. He welcomes darkness like an old friend.

 

* * *

 

‘’I’ll miss you, Tony.’’

_(Don’t go don’t leave please stay.)_

 

* * *

Tony comes home on a Friday night in the middle of June and Steve doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. It’s _too_ fast, _too_ much, _too_ soon and he’s shaking – hot coffee streaming over his hand because he can’t hold them still, can’t stop shaking. Tony doesn’t look like he did _before_ anymore – he doesn’t even look like he did in Berlin, many months ago. The sharp, bony lines of his face have blurred – he looks softer and healthier, _better_.

( _‘’Sweetheart, even space can’t kill me.’’)_

Bucky’s standing next to him with an arm around Tony’s shoulder - a sign of both protection and possessiveness. He’s looking at Steve like he wants to strangle him and Steve feels _trapped_ , for the first time in decades. They’re in his kitchen – his _sanctuary_ , his _home_ – and he should be able to handle this now.

 _But I won’t be for years_ , he thinks, as he opens the door to leave – hands burning, skin red and blistering, incredible _numbing_ pain.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’They’re out of control, Steve!’’ Tony’s brushing his teeth – there’s spit dripping down his chin and his eyes look _extremely_ tired. Steve would have let it go if it wasn’t about this - he’d have escorted him to their bed, he’d even have made him breakfast in bed. He can’t let _this_ go, though, he wants to but he _can’t can’t can’t_

He’s barely holding on – _they’re_ barely holding on, he knows. This is going to ruin them. _One more fight_ , he thinks, _one more and it’s over._ But it can’t be, can it? Because Tony’s stubborn and if Tony isn’t, he is – and they promised, right? _They promised_. He’s rapidly losing hope, though.

‘’They’re inexperienced, they’re _kids_.’’ He tries to be reasonable, he really does. Tony rinses his mouth and doesn’t look at him – looks at the sink instead. Steve watches him – white knuckles, shoulders hunched, sharp lines with cutting edges. Tony sighs, _so so so_ tired, and it ruins Steve to see him like this.

‘’They’ve _killed_ sixty-seven innocent _children_ because they’re not properly _trained_ to handle this. You can’t let them run around and destroy cities – _ruin_ lives, Steve.’’ Tony sounds cold – like he does on television – and reasonability floats out of the window like a feather and crashes to the ground like porcelain. Steve’s shaking with pent up anger and desperation and he wants to throw something at Tony to make him _understand_.

 ‘’So it’s _my_ fault – I didn’t train them?’’ Steve mimics Tony’s tone but he already knows the answer – he may have a different opinion but he’s not stupid. Tony looks up at him, then – meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror and Steve’s heart shatters. He doesn’t know how they got _here_ , fighting over some government-issue because they used to be _above_ that.

Tony looks away and Steve feels cold – like ice ( _oh God the ice)_ and he wants to scream. Wants to grab Tony’s shoulders and shake him because he has to understand, _has to understand_ – but he knows it’s too late. They’ve been walking a tightrope for weeks now and it’s like a fight for dominance, waiting for who’s going to slip first.

( _‘’I promise I’ll catch you when you fall.’’ ‘’You don’t have to; I have a flying suit.’’)_

Tony walks away without a word and Steve’s fist meets the mirror the second the door closes. Suddenly he’s surrounded by his own face, shattered around the sink and he bites his lip because he _has_ to stay strong now.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve wakes up to feather-light touches and the sound of the ocean. They’re in Portofino – a little village in Italy that smells like red wine and _dreams_. He smiles into his pillow, pretending to be asleep just a _little_ longer because all he feels is safety now. Tony’s pressing a trail of kisses from the back of his neck to the small of his back – leaving goose bumps in its wake. Steve bites his pillow to keep himself quiet – because Tony’s much more affectionate when he thinks he’s asleep.

‘’I know you’re awake,’’ Tony’s voice sounds like sandpaper – rough with sleep and probably _lust_ and Steve grins down at him over his shoulder. There’s a bottle of wine lying next to them on the ground, staining the cream-coloured carpet burgundy red – there’s a white shirt lying next to it and he doesn’t know if it’s his or Tony’s.

Tony makes his way up his back again and lays down on top of him, chest to back. It’s intimate and comfortable and Steve smiles while Tony smells his hair. He never expected this intimacy with Tony – never dared to think about far-away cities and lazy mornings. Never dared to think about him and Tony as a ‘ _them’_ , never thought he and Tony could be contained _together_ in one small word like that.

( _it’s him, it’s him and it’ll always be him.)_

 

* * *

 

 

The bottle of Thor’s fancy-coloured Asgardian-liquor is laying on the pillow next to him – needles scattered around his nightstand. _Emptiness,_ he thinks, _loneliness. Heartache._ His vision is blurred and he’s all alone – hearing hushed voices from the hallway. He wonders if they’re talking about him, if he’s even worth mentioning anymore and he feels sick and alone.

He knows it’s stupid, _so_ stupid he’ll probably hate himself even more tomorrow – but he can’t help it. It’s numbing and _good_ too and it helps him sleep. It tastes like fire in his mouth and lightning in his veins – like it used to feel ( _please forget please forget don’t do this don’t do this)._ Natasha’s worried – he knows; he’d probably be worried too. He told her to stop doing it anyway. She just looked _pitying_ again.

He knows it was _never_ supposed to be like this – hiding away in his ex-lover’s bedroom, injecting morphine into the bend of his arm like he’s still a soldier in Paris, trying to fit in. It’s not even helping – he knows because he’ll feel better for 10 minutes and then it’s all burning _pain_ and _desolation_ again. The liquor does make it a little bit more bearable, though.

 _Sorry sorry I’m so sorry,_ he thinks as he falls asleep again – hand reaching out for Tony and flinching away when all he feels is cotton.

 

* * *

 

 

"Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."   

_I’m not._

* * *

 

 

Love can bloom in quiet kitchens and wars can start in damp bathrooms – he knows this now. Bucky’s standing next to him, still broken like he was when Steve and Sam found him but still _remembering_ him. Iron Man’s here, too. Standing in the corner opposite of them, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Steve wants to stop this but he’s in too deep now - he can’t crawl out of his self-dug hole anymore.

‘’I’m sorry, Tony,’’ Steve says, raising his hands above his head because it _kills_ him that Tony needs the suit to protect himself from _him,_ ‘’You know I wouldn’t do this if I had any other choice but… he’s my friend.’’ The room is so quiet he can almost hear the gears turning in Bucky’s head – planning his attack, calculating it. He wants to stop him but he _has_ chosen a side – he’s still the scrawny boy from Brooklyn who chose his safety blanket over a man who made him feel things he wasn’t _supposed_ to feel, who scared him to death because the butterflies in his stomach made his heart beat violently in his chest.

‘’So was I.’’ Steve hears it. _Insecurity_ and _pain_ under the mask of technology and hard metal. He wants to stop this, right _now_ but Bucky launches himself at Tony and then there’s the whirring sound of repulsor-rays and his shield and scraping metal and _oh god oh god oh god_. He hopes he’ll die here – dying would be better than feeling like this for the rest of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’You look like shit,’’, Tony tells him on a Tuesday and it’s the first word he has spoken to Steve in _nine months_. Steve doesn’t look at him, just nods at the floor – trying to hide the shaking glass of water he’s holding behind the kitchen counter. He can feel the assessing look on him and does not dare to look up, afraid of what he’ll find in Tony’s eyes.

Suddenly, there are bony fingers on his shoulder and he backs away in panic because he can’t have this anymore – won’t have this anymore and he can’t handle dealing with the realization again. He accidentally steps on Tony’s foot in the process and the smaller man yelps and then it all goes to hell.

Because Bucky’s screaming in his face within _seconds_ – eyes hard and cold and _accusing_ and Steve feels like a cornered animal, hunching his shoulders to make himself look small and _guilty._ His vision is blurry ( _is he crying? He doesn’t cry anymore)_ and the room is spinning ( _what is happening?)_ and Natasha’s screaming ( _when did she get here?)_ and the world is burning again ( _god, the smell of melting metal)_ and then – it finally goes black.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Jerusalem is beautiful_ , he thinks as he’s staring at the Wailing Wall – a place of _grief_ and _love_ and _religion._ The sun is burning on his face and he feels comfortable and warm. Tony’s standing next to him – one hand in his pocket, one hand in his – and he’s looking at Steve through his bright-coloured sunglasses like Steve looks at Picasso-paintings – _admiration, amazement, respect._

‘’You did this, you know,’’ Tony tells him – and he removes his hand from his pocket to gesture at the wall and the people and Steve looks at him because he _doesn’t understand_. Tony just smiles softly and strokes his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. ‘’This is what _you_ fought for, soldier. This is freedom.’’ Tony’s still smiling and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

Steve is _so so_ in love with him, breathing is difficult for a moment.

 

* * *

Steve’s twenty-one years old and wants to be an artist – wants to work with his hands because he can’t rely on his brains _or_ his muscles. He draws too much and eats too little, lives in his own little world – a world where he’s strong and powerful and doesn’t _need_ protection from bullies _or_ house dust mite.

He’s twenty-one years old and he falls in love with a man – someone _tall_ and _handsome_ and _older_ and _strong_ – and he knows it’s wrong. It’s wrong but he _can’t stop doing it_ – so he draws more ( _sketches on the floor, in his bed, in the park, in the kitchen)_ and eats less _(it’s a sin, you’re going to hell, you’re sick, you have to stop.)_

Steve Rogers is twenty-one years old and runs away – from his life, from his memories, from his dreams because he doesn’t deserve the life he’s living anymore. Steve Rogers becomes a man and loses his innocence on a beach in Normandy. ( _dead bodies, gun powder, yellow flashes, despair.)_

He doesn’t dare to tell anyone it’s the best day of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’A hero, like you? Everything special about you came out of a _bottle._ ’’

_You’re right._

‘’Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds.’’

 

* * *

 

 

He’s the poster boy for a grieving country, now. Everything hurts and nothing is alright, nothing will _ever_ be alright again. He remembers bits and pieces – bright flashes, a deep voice and the smell of melting metal. (‘’ _Take care of him, Steve, I won’t make it out of this one.’’)_ He fell asleep with sand in his mouth and woke up to screaming white walls and the smell of detergent.

( _Everything’s gone – you deserve this, you’re so so so stupid.)_ He wants to ask Natasha what happened but she won’t tell him, Bucky’s constantly avoiding his eyes – there’s a hole in his life and no one is capable of telling him how it got there in the first place. Pepper ( _dear sweet Pepper with the tired eyes)_ is the one that puts him out of his misery.

‘’He _ran away_ because you killed his friend.’’

He doesn’t have the energy to protest anymore, so he leaves. _Some things are better left unsaid._

 

* * *

 

 

‘’ _Calm_ the fuck _down_!’’ A booming, penetrating voice laced with panic and anger. He wakes up to hard, brown eyes and Tony’s shaking him. He lets him go as soon as they make eye contact and it _hurts_ – so Steve looks at his fingernails to ignore the feeling. ( _what the hell is happening?)_

Tony makes a noise of displeasure and he knows it’s Tony because he knows _every single noise_ he’s capable of making. Steve leans back – tries to hide away in the kitchen cupboard he’s draped against. Bucky’s sitting on the table with a stoic look on his face and Tony is watching him disapprovingly. Steve feels a little pleased and _a lot_ surprised.

Natasha’s standing next to where he’s sitting – her eyes are assessing but soft and he’s _so_ grateful he still has _her_. His life is built on fragile foundations and she’s been the only solid thing in it. It’s quiet for a long time – but Tony makes a noise again and they’re all looking at him within a second.

‘’This stops _right now._ ’’ It’s an order and Steve knows orders, so he sits a little straighter. Bucky huffs and Tony raises a finger at him like it’s a threat – like Bucky wouldn’t be able to snap him in half if he wanted to ( _Steve hopes he doesn’t.)_ Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ceiling and Natasha smiles at Tony – at his authority, at his _bravery_ , at his _wholeness_.

‘’I know it’s fucked up,’’ Tony starts and he sounds tired but convinced – and Steve tries to push the _feelings away_ , ‘’You’re my friend now but you’re _his_ friend too.’’ He gestures at Steve, Steve tries to back away further ( _I want to be invisible, please don’t look at me.)_ ‘’He needs you, now.’’

Tony stands up a little straighter – he’s rigid and tense but there’s a _fire_ in his eyes as he gives Steve a _tiny_ almost-smile. Somehow, it feels like hope.

 

* * *

 

 

( _‘’I may be your ocean, but you’re my stars.’’ ‘’Why’s that?’’ ‘’Because you always shine brightest in dark places.’’)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a lot of sadness and a little bit of hope. Tony's part is next but I have _killer_ deadlines coming up so that will probably take a little longer. (the hard-knock life of a psychology-student)  
>  Feel free to message me on [tumblr](http://loverscomeloversgo.tumblr.com) as well, talk to me about anything - I like making friends. :)


	3. i’ve been lost, i’ve been found, but i don’t feel down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changed when an Eastern-European city dropped out of the sky. No – it changed before that. It changed when myths stopped being myths, when aliens became an enemy, when mind-control became a thing. Tony should have seen it coming, should have connected the dots. He feels regret in his bones and his chest feels too tight for his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is! The last part. I actually finished this over a month ago, but I wasn't sure if I wanted it to end like this. (I still don't, but more on that later.) Sorry for the delay - I've been so busy, but that's a terrible excuse. I really should have finished this sooner (or posted it, at least.).  
> Anyway! There isn't a lot of closure in this story and I'm sorry about that - I wanted that, too. It just didn't feel right with the feel of this chapter. There are a lot of timejumps in this, but it felt weird to go from emotional trauma to happily ever after (if you know what I mean.) It's hopeful, though.  
> Sooo I started writing a ''part 2'' thing. It's not much yet, but I'm hoping it will be someday in the future. Thank you all for reading this - I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it. <3

_‘’Tony, get out!’’_

Footsteps. Explosions. Silence.

_‘’Steve? Steve!’’_

* * *

 

 ‘’This _isn’t_ about you. It’s about what’s the best for _all of us_.’’ He doesn’t look at Steve – he can’t because he’ll see destruction, desperation, and distrust. He can’t look because it reminds him of what they had and what he _destroyed_. He can’t face it because he’s _trying_ to forget about it - about the way Steve’s eyes _used to_ twinkle and look dim _now_.

‘’It _is_ about me because you won’t even look at me anymore.’’ Steve’s voice sounds cold and broken – like the insecure, young man he is. Tony wants to hold him close and protect him from all the horrors of this _broken_ world. It’s too late for that now, and the realization feels worse than drowning and falling from the sky _combined_. It feels worse than dying.

Tony shakes his head to clear it and takes a step back, towards the door because he’ll run if he has to. Because running is the only option he has – because running is better than hearing words that will _shatter_ him or feeling the tension in the air that wasn’t there until two weeks ago. It’s a battle he can’t win so he’ll run – he won’t fight at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony Stark is fourteen years old, and he’s a genius – been one his whole life. He thinks in equations and probability, and he’s _different_. It’s not a bad thing; it’s just a _thing_ – his thing. His mother tells him he’s ‘ _eccentric_ ,' his father tells him he’s ‘ _a waste of space_ ’ and his butler tells him he’s ‘ _just a boy_.' Tony is fourteen years old and knows his father is the wisest of the three, so he’s eighty-nine percent certain his father’s opinion matters most.

So he builds and calculates and improves – tries, tries again and tries harder. To make his mother proud, Jarvis smile and his father see – ( _‘’See dad, I can do this’’ ‘’I’m proud of you, Tony’’)_ – but he never does and trying is _tiring._

So he stops.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’What’s it like – to never be ashamed of who you are, _what_ you are?’’ Steve’s cheeks are pink, and his eyes are _so_ blue and _so_ wide, and Tony tries to hide his smile. Steve’s chin bone is poking his clavicle, and it’s _slightly_ uncomfortable, but he’s too tired to care. He brushes Steve’s hair from his forehead and presses a kiss onto it.

‘’I was never really _free,_ though,’’ Tony starts. Steve looks confused and Tony grins, lets his head fall back on his pillow and looks at the ceiling. ‘’My father was never really interested in my life, but Stark Industries was, so I had to be a little ashamed. When I _wasn’t_ , I had to sit through presentations about how my behaviour was influencing the sales.’’

Steve kisses his chin, and it’s a little wet and clumsy – but it’s _comfort_ in one of its purest forms and Tony smiles back at him.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony discovers the recordings on a Tuesday night. He stares at the files for so long his vision becomes blurry ( _or is he crying? He’s not even sure),_ and his heart is pounding in his chest. He knows it’s a bad idea – the worst he’s had in a long time, but he also knows he _needs_ answers. He needs facts, numbers and probability. He needs PowerPoint-presentations and Excel-sheets. He doesn’t _want_ to know but he _needs_ to know and God – _it hurts_ to think about it, let alone _listen to_ or see it. To be there _without_ being there.

He stares and stares and stares – and then he decides to just _go_ _for it_. He doesn’t have anything to lose anymore, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky is so much like him; it scares him sometimes. They’re interested in the same things, enjoy the same foods and understand each other’s bizarre humour. When it’s not scary, it’s comforting – a safe place _without_ having to be the best version of yourself, without pretences. They share food and jokes and most of all, company. It’s healing in a way he can’t describe, and it calms him like Valium used to do.

‘’You always manage to be the person everybody needs you to be,’’ Bucky sounds tired and hoarse and Tony grins in response. He nods softly and closes his eyes – breathes in the fresh, French air. It smells like the sea; pure and a little salty and he loves it – he loves being able to _just breathe_.

‘’It’s not a compliment,’’ Bucky continues, and Tony opens his eyes again. There’s concern in Bucky’s eyes and it’s flattering, so he smiles back at him – a real one because he’s too tired for his showface. ‘’I know,’’ he responds, ‘’we don’t do compliments.’’

Bucky looks a little surprised – a little taken aback by Tony’s honesty. Then he laughs, bright and melodious and Tony understands. They’re two extremely, horribly broken people seeking comfort in foreign cities. They’re _running_ – and by running, they found _each other._ The distorted mirror-image they were running from.

It’s hilarious.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Fury told me what Wanda showed you.’’

Clint sits down next to him, on the couch in his workshop. Tony doesn’t have the energy to wonder how he even _got in_ , just goes with it – he’s sharing a house with five to nine superheroes, depending on the day, he can’t _not_ go with it. He lets out the breath he’s been holding and lets his head fall against the back of the couch. He’s so, _so_ exhausted he could fall asleep like this – with his back in an uncomfortable angle and his feet resting on a project he couldn’t finish.

It’s silent for a few moments – seconds, maybe minutes – and then Clint wraps a _very_ muscled arm around his shoulders and makes himself comfortable on the old couch. He looks at Tony’s face and smiles – and it’s not much, but it’s something, maybe even comfort.

It’s silent after that, too, until Clint removes his hand from Tony’s shoulder and stands up. ‘’ _Mind control sucks_ ,’’ he says as he leaves.

Tony snorts.

 

* * *

 

 

Anthony Stark meets James Rhodes on a Tuesday, and he _hates_ him. He _hates_ the authoritative tone of his voice, _hates_ the pretentious attitude and _hates_ the way his hair always looks perfect. The thing is; everything Tony _hates_ , Howard _loves_ – and that just gives him more reasons to _hate_ this infuriatingly perfect person.

Or he tries to hate him. He really, _really_ tries.

 

* * *

 

 

_‘’Take care of him, Steve.’’_

_…_

_‘’No, no, no, no, no.’’_

* * *

 

‘’The world is not big enough for you, is it?’’ There’s a blonde boy in his bed, and he sounds _amazed_ – surprised and _exhausted_ all at once. His eyes twinkle in a way Tony hasn’t seen before. He thinks he’s in love for five seconds and then he remembers who he is, how he can’t fall in love, how he’ll _destroy_ that beautiful twinkle and he takes a deep breath through his mouth to slow his heartbeat.

‘’Yeah, and you should leave.’’ He hates this – his heart is pounding, and his head is exploding, and it _hurts_ , God, it hurts – but he _knows_. The boy looks at him – twinkle gone, eyes hard and cold and Tony _can’t_ look. He closes his eyes and counts the reasons why.

The door closes, and everything _hurts,_ and he wants to call someone – _Rhodey, his mother_ – but he can’t so he screams into the emptiness of his dorm room instead.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony picks Steve up from the kitchen floor on Monday. He’s not breathing right, shivering, and it’s terrible to see.

He does it on Friday, too.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Why don’t your eyes smile – like, ever?’’ Pepper’s a little drunk and Tony snorts into his champagne flute. He appreciates the honesty, though, and presses a kiss to her hair. She smells like coconut and bubbles – he associates the smell with his bedroom, and it’s _good,_ it’s safe, and _home_ and he strokes her arm because he can’t tell her but he hopes, _wishes_ he can show her somehow.

‘’It’s because Starks are made of iron, Pep.’’ Pepper laughs – she _laughs_ at his words and he holds her close to keep her from falling over. Tony closes his eyes to ignore the room, to focus on _Pepper_ and he’s content for the first time in years.

‘’I hate it, Tony,’’ she starts and Tony nods even though she can’t see him, ‘’You’re always lonely – it’s a _part of you_ – and I can’t do anything about it.’’ Tony swallows and meets her eyes then; she looks sad and tired, and Tony holds her even closer.

‘’You’re doing all you can, Pep,’’ his voice sounds hoarse, ‘’and that’s enough, that will _always_ be enough.’’

 

* * *

 

 

‘’You lied to me.’’ It’s not a question; it’s a statement. Blue eyes stare back at him – not cold, not scared either. Tony can’t really blame her for that, _hell_ , it’s what makes her special. He wants to scare her now, though. He wants his voice to echo, wants it to boom – he wants to stun her into submissive silence and it scares him a little.

She raises her _perfect_ eyebrow and Tony’s blood is boiling. He’d kill her if he didn’t know her – he wouldn’t hesitate. She looks tired and fragile and Tony can’t _breathe_ , is too angry and too exhausted to see her suffer. He has to, though – has to _know_ , has to be sure.

‘’It wasn’t his fault, and you didn’t tell me.’’ She understands instantly. He can see it – the shock, the regret, the way her hands are shaking. It doesn’t make him feel better. She averts her eyes, looks at her hands instead – to calm herself down, probably. Tony follows her gaze and notices how small her hands are – girly, childlike and incredibly fragile. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down.

‘’You didn’t tell him either, did you?’’

She just shakes her head.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s terrible to see your heroes cry – to _humanize_ them. Tony realizes this as he looks at Steve – proud and _indestructible_ Steve, now broken and shivering on his couch. Tony wants to make it better, do _something,_ but he doesn’t know how, never learnt how to fix people - just machines and software. It’s like a crushing weight on his shoulder, seeing his hero as a person, like seeing a grown-up cry for the first time when he was six. He shivers, doesn’t know what to do with his hands and sits down anyway because _God_ , he has to do something.

Steve doesn’t acknowledge him for a long time and Tony can’t blame him. Tony is not a nice person – a good person, sure, but never _nice_. Tony isn’t Bruce, someone with a therapeutic aura. He’s not Natasha, a friend, and he’s not like Thor either - he may be hyper-intelligent, but he’s certainly not _wise_.

He sighs and closes his eyes – thinks of the reasons _why_ and _tries_ anyway, even though he stopped trying _very long ago._ Tony shifts a little closer and holds out his arm – it’s an invitation and even though Steve isn’t looking at him, he must _feel_ it because he’s _in_ Tony’s arms in five seconds.

They don’t talk, and that’s fine – that’s _better_ because they’re terrible at communicating. They sit – for minutes, maybe hours – and that’s fine, too, because there is nothing else they can do.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony thinks his hero, his lover, killed his best friend for a long time because he doesn’t believe in _luck_ – he doesn’t _believe_ in fate, either. Tony believes in _numbers_ , in statistics and odds, even though they have never really been in his favour. He likes the predictability – finds comfort in the fact he can be _one out of fifty_ instead of someone with _bad luck_.

_Luck_ does not change _facts_ – and the facts speak for themselves. There was a war, there were sides, there were victims, and there were casualties. James Rhodes was _one out of 171._ He wasn’t unlucky; he was the reason 170 others got to live.

It does not feel as comforting as it should.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony never had a lot of friends. It’s not something he wants to change, it just happens. He didn’t ask for teammates or a safety net or a _family_ – they just appear, one by one. It’s a slow progress; he doesn’t really realize it’s happening until they’re all living in his tower, his _space_ and he doesn’t really mind them being there.

It’s nice, sometimes. Natasha tells him stories about her youth when they’re both too tired to sleep. Bruce makes him tea with cardamom and ginger. Even Clint, an _assassin_ , teaches him about _lions_ and _elephants_ and _acrobatics_. It’s not perfect – far from it - because they fight like displeased toddlers who are physically able to kill each other without straining a muscle. They’re dysfunctional in the worst ways, petty and mean – but they’re there, and it’s _home_.

 

* * *

 

 

_‘’Steve,_ go _, you have to go_ now! _’’_

_‘’No!’’_

_‘’You’re going to die and I won’t,_ leave! _’’_

_‘’I can’t-…’’_

_‘’Yes, you can. Go!’’_

 

* * *

 

 

‘’I think I’m broken.’’ Bucky’s eyes are a disconcerting shade of blue - they don’t shine or twinkle, and they remind him of frozen lakes and grey skies, a calm before a storm. Tony’s sure they were beautiful, once upon a time, full of life and dreams – not full of lives Bucky _took_ , echoing screams of victims, begging for their lives. Maybe that’s what makes them so similar; they’re both so _aware_ of their mistakes, carriers of the same virus. At least, they won’t infect each other.

‘’Everyone is.’’ His voice sounds raw. It’s probably because they haven’t spoken in three days. It’s not a _bad_ silence – it’s not uncomfortable, not judgemental and not full of unsaid words. It’s just there, existing – just like them.

‘’Do you think it’s fixable?’’ Maybe he sounds a little desperate. Maybe he wants comfort, or maybe he doesn’t. He’s not really sure anymore.

‘’Do you want to fix it?’’

Tony bites his lip and doesn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s a mess, and it’s painful to see. To watch him destroy himself – piece by piece, needle by needle. Tony counts in his head; the dinners he doesn’t eat, the movies he doesn’t watch, the coffee he doesn’t drink and the times he won’t leave his bedroom ( _their_ bedroom ( _no, not anymore_ )). Tony tries to ignore it, at first. Tries to avoid it so he won’t make it _worse_ – but he can’t, and it feels like sharp, manicured nails planting themselves in his heart ( _or what’s left of it)_.

He watches Steve clean the kitchen until his fingers are bleeding and he can’t do it anymore. He thinks it must be more painful to see this than it is to _forgive_ – but it’s his _pride_ and he can’t. He wants to but he just _can’t_.

So he runs ( _again)_.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony figures out his hero _didn’t_ kill his best friend because there’s footage – grainy video- and audiotapes recorded by Rhodey’s battered helmet. He doesn’t watch them until he does – and then it feels like his brain is exploding because _no, this can’t happen, there is no way this is happening, Rhodey was a number, a statistic, he wasn’t unlucky._

But he was. Tony should have known because Rhodey was _special_ – someone who squeezed himself through the tiny cracks in the armour around his heart when he was _sixteen_ and who started to exist _inside the armour_ with him when they were in their thirties. Rhodey wasn’t a number, a statistic – Rhodey was the most _human_ and _unreliable_ person Tony ever knew, ever will know. Rhodey was the mystery, the safety net, the family.

Rhodey was the variable he could _never_ explain – and he tried, he tried _so hard_.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s burying his parents, and it’s raining. Obadiah called it _symbolic_ in his speech; right before he started talking about the future of Stark Industries ( _Tony wonders if Obie even knows what symbolism means_ ).  He’s wearing sunglasses and the sky is grey and he has _reasons_ – lots of them – because his parents are _dead_ and he’s not _crying_. His eyes aren’t _red_ , not swollen, not _anything_ – and it’s awkward because he should feel something, _anything_.

He doesn’t, though.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything changed when an Eastern-European city _dropped out of the sky_. No – it changed before that. It changed when myths stopped being myths, when aliens became an enemy, when mind-control became a _thing_. Tony should have seen it coming, should have connected the dots. He feels regret in his bones and his chest feels too tight for his lungs.

He sits down and looks at the blonde woman. She looks smaller than she did before – less _capable_ , less alive. It’s painful to see her like this, with haunted eyes and shaking hands. She doesn’t meet his eyes and he knows – he knows because he’s _been there_ and decided to build a killer-robot in response.

‘’Do you remember, Sharon?’’ He says it before he thinks – but he doesn’t regret it. He has to know. _Needs_ to know.

She shakes her head.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Do you have a type?’’ Bucky is biting his lip – staring at the sunrise, somewhat _amazed_. Tony can’t stop laughing because he’s a little drunk, a little high and almost happy. The water is reflecting the sunlight, making the world glitter and Tony just laughs and laughs and laughs harder.

‘’It was a serious question!’’ It’s a little strange to see Bucky - of _all people_ , dark and stormy Bucky - smile like that. Tony rolls his eyes theatrically and Bucky shoves his shoulder in an almost playful way. It makes him feel proud – like a parent, maybe, or like a friend, but he’s still not entirely sure if that is what they are.

Tony nods at the glittering lake and Bucky follows his gaze – it’s peaceful. ‘’I like people with eyes like that.’’ Bucky snorts but shakes his head.

‘’You’re such a cliché.’’

Tony pushes him into the water.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time James Rhodes saves Tony’s life is when he’s sixteen – too short, too skinny and too smart ( _without the accomplishments to back it up_ ). No one really _likes_ him – it’s so obvious, it stopped hurting a long time ago – and he doesn’t really care. He knows people talk about him when they think he can’t hear them, knows their smiles are fake and _knows_ they stay close to him because he’ll pay for their drinks. They’re students; he doesn’t blame them.

The problem is; they don’t _care_ if he’s too drunk to function – they let him walk back to his apartment on his own. It’s fine, _totally fine_ , until he hears a claxon and screeching tires and someone is tackling him. He passes out for a minute, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s greeted with a concerned face and big, brown, warm eyes.

They don’t really talk, but Tony takes the hand Rhodey offers him – and that’s that.

 

* * *

 

 

Every story has an ending. It has a beginning too – but that’s not important.

* * *

 

 

Bucky is on the roof, looking at the stars even though Tony knows they’re not visible here. It’s a little endearing – seeing a man with an arm made of metal looking at the sky with such amazement, even though Tony’s sure he’s seen the sky at least, a million times before. Maybe it’s because they’re even older than him or maybe it’s just because he likes astronomy. Tony isn’t sure.

He sits down next to him, anyway. Because they’re friends now, he thinks - even in New York, even now Bucky’s _brother_ is slowly trying to stop existing. It must be painful for him, too – seeing the man you’d die and died for trying to die willingly. Or at least; not trying very hard to survive. It’s painful for Tony, too, but he’s trying not to think about that.

‘’He didn’t kill him.’’ It’s out of his mouth before he can think about it, but he doesn’t regret it. They’re honest – it’s their thing, they’re both too broken to make the truth sound any prettier than it really is. Bucky nods and it’s a slow thing, slower than you’d expect from an assassin. Bucky’s tired, too – Tony knows because he’s radiating it into the fresh air, pure _exhaustion_.

‘’What happened?’’ There is not much emotion in his voice, but there is in his eyes. Curiosity, maybe. Regret. It’s a side of him Tony hasn’t seen before – his usual unapologetic-air suddenly gone. Tony closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

‘’I’m not sure,’’ Tony starts, voice suddenly unsteady, ‘’there are tapes. Evidence. And I spoke to Sharon.’’ Bucky closes his eyes and snaps his mouth shut. He’s tense, and Tony wraps an arm around his shoulder to keep him grounded. Their friendship may be a little odd, but they are _good_ at comforting each other.

‘’It never stops.’’ Bucky sounds like he wants to cry but can’t. Tony nods his head in agreement.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony doesn’t think about mind control as a possible variable because it can’t be, not again. It’s too painful to consider it – to consider its power and the destruction it leaves in its wake. There’s no explanation, not really. There’s no evidence; it’s just there. Suddenly, they’re all fragile – even in an iron suit. Even as a genetically enhanced soldier. Even an _indestructible_ green monster.

Because life’s a bitch, it took another variable they’d never really consider. A regular human – no heightened senses, no fancy toys, no super strength – just human.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’I think I love you.’’ Steve is still sleeping, but Tony doesn’t really care. His skin smells like sweat and shampoo, and it’s so youthful it makes Tony feel sentimental. Nostalgic, maybe, because he never had this when he smelled like _that_. Now he’s older, with grease stains on his shirt and the faint smell of expensive cologne in his hair, and he _finally_ stopped caring about doing the _rational_ thing. He finally started doing the _right_ thing instead.

And the right thing _must be_ Steve –probably always has been him. He doesn’t believe in soulmates, won’t ever believe in such nonsense, but if they’d existed – this would have been _it_. He closes his eyes once more, buries his nose deeper in those fresh-smelling blonde locks and smiles because – _yes_ , he finally made his father proud.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, it goes like this; they’re in a warehouse, and they’re fighting. There’s a small woman in the corner that none of them notice. Bucky is trying to kill Tony, which is not surprising because he’s always trying to kill him. Tony is avoiding Steve, or Steve is avoiding him. They don’t talk, don’t look each other in the eye – Tony is afraid of what he’ll see, and Steve probably has reasons, too. Tony knows Rhodey’s there, too.

Something explodes.

It’s dark for a long time, and then it isn’t. There is smoke in his lungs and dirt in his eyes. There’s debris laying on top of him. He can’t move and doesn’t really want to – doesn’t have the energy or the motivation anymore. He closes his eyes and waits.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Rhodey does notice.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s room smells like sweat, blood and stale beer. The windows are closed, and the curtains are shut tight - leaving the room stuffy and dark. Steve’s in the middle of his ( _too big_ ) bed, laying on his stomach. Tony can barely make out his blonde hair in the sea of pillows and blankets, and it’s almost pure and youthful again. But it isn’t, and it hurts.

He lets out the breath he’s been holding and sits down on the edge of the bed, letting his hand rest on the back of Steve’s neck. He’s not awake yet – but he will wake up, and he will notice Tony – and maybe he’ll understand what it means.

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes and passes and passes – because it always does, because it never stops.

 

* * *

 

 

He never figures out the _whole_ truth. Fragments of it – yes, parts he can connect to reach a fairly plausible conclusion. Pieces are missing, though. Pieces destroyed. Pieces no one can remember or pieces no one is _willing_ to remember.

He thinks it goes like this; someone figures out how brain control works. Someone wants to incapacitate earth’s mightiest heroes. Someone figures out a way to do so without drawing attention to themselves. Someone does this by picking an _extremely_ competent human being and taking their free will.

From then on, it’s about timing. It’s about figuring out _when_ they’re most vulnerable. _Destroy them from the inside_ – just like Loki did. Just like Ultron did. _Destroy them while they’re too busy destroying themselves._

Tony thinks and thinks and thinks, but he can’t know for sure, _won’t_ know for sure. He doesn’t have a _name_ or _face_ or _anything_. It’s probably HYDRA. Possibly A.I.M. They’ve made enough enemies over the years, there’s no way to know for sure.

It’s hard, but he accepts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, guys. Let me know what you think. Message me on [tumblr](http://loverscomeloversgo.tumblr.com) if you have questions or just want to talk about the weather. I'd like that. (or if you want to know what happens next, or just want a hint) :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading this. <3 You're the best!


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